


Any Excuse

by ohtheway



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brief Flashback, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Married Couple, Mini Fic, Post War, Post-Hogwarts, Rare Pairings, Romantic Fluff, Sappy, Sleepiness, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtheway/pseuds/ohtheway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaise comes home early and gets sappy over his wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Excuse

His favorite part of coming home was knowing she was there. They both worked long hours, their only solace that they shared a quiet and richly decorated home with only themselves. As soon as he set his foot through the door, hand held out behind him to assure that the only sound was the faint click of its lock slipping into place, he was on the look-out for her. Dark eyes scanned every inch of the living room as if she'd somehow hidden herself among the furniture. 

From the neatly organized glass table with its stack of books, to the crème sofa and loveseat that square it, all the way to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that made up the focus of the room, he couldn't see any indication that his wife was even home. Taking off his coat, he hung it up and quietly muttered a charm to muffle each step that carried him through the house. It was his secret hope to sneak up on her, but he knew the chances were minimal.

He passed through the archway into the hall, familiarly navigating the space that the two of them shared. Each inch he moved provided his senses with more to go on. The dimmed lights in the hallway relaxed him as he passed beneath them, shoulders easing from their upright position. 

Blaise hesitated outside of the bedroom door, leaning close to it so that his ear was just an inch from the wood. Not a single noise stirred from within the room, but after a moment he reached for the knob and turned it anyhow. The slow spill of light from the hallway washed over the dark room, painting everything in a faint shade of yellow-orange.

The plush grey of their comforter called to him, lulling his senses further. On the desk in the far corner, a sealed jar contained a steadily glowing ball of light just bright enough to see basic shapes by. He stepped further into the room, muffling the sound of the door with another whispered spell, his focus on the bed they shared. Despite the early hour, he could see a bundled up mound halfway buried in the blankets at the center.

He followed the instincts that led him to the end of the bed before he crawled over her, carefully supporting himself above her smaller frame. As she stirred beneath him, Blaise shifted to allow freedom of movement. 

Hermione always looked angelic when she slept, so he found it comical and unfortunate that she tended to sleep buried almost entirely with nothing but errant tufts of hair exposed. He couldn't resist bowing down to bury his face those tempting curls, kissing the loops and spirals that made up his wife's hair. She shifted in her sleep, the blankets shifting and settling around the tip of her nose.

The low light was just barely enough for him to see her features by, ensnaring him. The long lashes that lightly grazed her cheeks caught his attention and kept it hostage, much like the breath trapped in his throat. It was no surprise that she held him like this, even asleep as she was.  


Even in school, Hermione's untold talent and quick wit had been on his radar. Watching her grow up every year, grow more comfortable with herself, had practically made him prisoner. The Gryffindor had had no idea of the way his eyes frequently trailed to her during classes, or how he'd had to keep himself from laughing when Draco admitted she'd broken his nose.

Ah, and Draco... If his friendship with Draco hadn't been a distinct complication, he would have dared to make a move much sooner than fifth year. As it was, Slughorn's club had provided the necessary catalyst - and a distinct lack of Harry and Ron. At first he'd had difficulty with her bold fire and ingrained wariness of his House, but soon they'd begun to tuck themselves into the furthest corner of the room and discuss books in low murmurs. Her soft, flirting laugh had charmed him so thoroughly he couldn't have cared about much else. So much so, that the eventual question about her blood status had taken him by surprise. 

He allowed himself to be dragged into the memory, fingers sweeping through wavy locks.  


_“You do know that I'm... That my parents are muggles?” The words spilled out of her lips apropos of nothing at the tail end of a dwindling conversation on the subject of charms. There had been a touch of defensiveness to her tone that betrayed her nervousness._

_Blaise watched her lift the glass of pumpkin juice and sip it, recognizing she was simply wanting something to do with her hands. He held to his own, not moving or looking away. Something in her body language told him that she cared very much about his opinion on the matter, though she probably wished she didn't._

“ _I do believe the whole school knows, if not the wizarding world.” He took a calm sip of his pumpkin juice, offering her a charming twitch of lips in lieu of a smile. “And my mother remarries every few months. One cannot change the circumstances of parents. If you're asking whether it bothers me or not, it doesn't in the slightest.”_

_The way her shoulders relaxed and the light reentered her eyes told him all he'd needed to know._

From then on, things had been smoother between them. They became fast friends, with chemistry that had lit every fiber of his being on fire. The same was true for her. What was splintered by the war only solidified as time went on, and it was their bond that enabled him to convince Draco what side to choose in the end. Together they'd been some of the bravest at Harry Potter's side. He'd fallen so head over heels that he'd proposed on a whim, in the bliss of the ecstatic revelation that Voldemort had fallen.

And now, six years after the war was over, he still found himself enchanted by her. 

“Lady,” he whispered, kissing the shell of her ear, “it's only seven thirty. I was under the impression we would be spending time together tonight.”

His wife gave a quiet noise of acknowledgment, at the very least of his existence, and stretched somewhat beneath him. It took another few kisses before she opened those pretty eyes and looked back up to him, sighing just audibly.

“Blaise. You're home early.” 

Her voice was muffled with sleep, but affectionate and warm. It set his body on fire, slow lick of flames coursing through his veins and gathering in his belly. He could write poetry based on the cadence of that voice alone, but he settled for kissing the tip of her nose.

“I came home so that I could spend time with my gorgeous other half. And possibly offer said other half a massage.”

The offer caught her attention, a gentle stretching arc of her spine accompanying a more alert noise of appreciation. He watched her lift a hand and absentmindedly ruffle her own hair before reaching forward and stroking fingers over his. She spent a few seconds pressing the tighter curls of his hair, possibly as enamored by its springiness as he was of her wavy, uncontrolled locks of swirls.

Once she was done, she eyed him thoughtfully and provided a teasing smirk as hint to her mood. “Is that the only incentive for the massage? Because I'm your wife?”

Blaise felt the smile curl onto his lips, borderline wicked in its charm. He knew he was caught, but couldn't have cared if he'd tried. And he wouldn't try.

“Any excuse to touch you, Mrs. Zabini,” he answered in a purr, pressing a kiss to her lips just as she giggled. Hands crawled over his shoulders, scratching lightly through the thin fabric of his shirt before her arms wound around his neck and trapped him in the kiss efficiently.

The massage could wait.


End file.
